


Then all was silent

by Unlawful_Villainy



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hurt, Magic, Slight torture, Threatening, it's the train station scene, this did not go how I thought it would, update: there is now major torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9603386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unlawful_Villainy/pseuds/Unlawful_Villainy
Summary: What if Graves hadn't been caught? What if he'd escaped Newt's attack in the train station?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Tumblr user fantastic-beasts-smut (go check out their blog it's amazing)

“I refuse to bow down any longer.”  
Graves stood defiantly on the subway platform, staring down at President Picquery. With a sneer, he turned on his heel and walked away, but before he could get far a shining wall of light flew up in front of him. Realising his situation, he spun back to the President, firing volley after volley of spells at the Aurors surrounding her. Try as they might, no shield could withstand the power of his attacks, and one by one they began to fall as Graves advanced down the platform. Despite the dozens of Aurors surrounding him, he had eyes only for Picquery, and as he continued his inexorable approach, he stared her directly in the eyes, a fierce determination ruling his features.  
As soon as the Director had his back to him, Newt whipped his wand towards the man. Even Graves’ famous reflexes couldn’t overcome the sheer number of spells around him, and though he turned to face Newt, he was too slow. Magical bonds surrounded him, and his wand flew out of reach as he fell to his knees, baring his teeth in effort as he struggled against the captivity.  
All was silent in the station for a few seconds as the Aurors took in what had happened. Newt leapt up on the platform, approaching his prisoner with his wand raised.  
“Revel-“  
With a sharp crack, Graves Apparated out of his bonds, appearing again behind Newt with his hand grasping the British wizard’s throat. Everyone froze, waiting for his next move, and with a flick of his wrist Newt’s wand sped out of his hand, hitting the wall and falling to the ground, the quiet tap an ear-splitting blow in the deathly silence.  
“Now,” Graves began, in a low, menacing voice, “I’m leaving. And if anyone tries to stop me, this man will die a slow, painful death. You all know what I’m capable of, so I suggest you keep your distance. Now, lower your wands.”  
No one moved a muscle, all waiting for orders from the President. Picquery was in shock, staring at the man who had once been her loyal second-in-command. With a sigh, Graves flicked his wrist once more, and Newt cried out in pain, his knees buckling, only supported by Graves’ hand around his neck. Before long, the source of his pain became evident, as a red line appeared on his face, impossibly thin, weeping blood at a rate that suggested it was deceptively deep. Still no one moved, and Graves tapped Newt on his left shoulder. Immediately, Newt was shoved backwards by some invisible force, and this time no one could help recoiling at the piercing scream torn from him as he sagged backwards. Within seconds, his coat was stained dark red with the blood pouring from some unseen wound.  
Wands began to drop.  
One by one at first, but increasing until, for a few seconds, it sounded like the rain falling on an old tin roof. When the last one fell, the hush returned, but somehow different. The atmosphere had changed, and it was darker, more oppressive, as if one could feel the weight of the silence on one’s shoulders. The tension in the space was stretched to its limit, and one movement, one sound could result in the battle beginning again.  
Smiling in a way that only he could, Graves backed away, keeping Newt between himself and Aurors. His foot kicked against a stone, torn from the roof, and he stopped, sensing the light wall still behind him. A few second stretched on to infinity, the situation balancing on a knife’s edge. Leaning forwards, Graves whispered into Newt’s ear.  
“You might want to say your goodbyes…”  
Although Newt could barely hear him through the pain, he deciphered the words slowly, and, thinking of Pickett, raised his head to look at Tina. He could scarcely see her, filled as his eyes were with tears, but he made an effort. For Pickett, and Frank, and the others…  
“Take care of them…” his voice was barely more than a croak, and he swallowed thickly, trying to get out the words. “Take care of them, Tina-“  
In an explosion of light, all the Aurors attacked at once. Graves shielded himself with Newt, trying to Apparate away, and Tina pushed forward, through the cacophony of spells, and Newt was yelling _please, Tina, help them_ and Tina was crying and Picquery was yelling and the spells were cracking and Newt was screaming, louder and louder and it was unbearable and Tina pushed, she had to get closer, had to help him, save him-  
Then all was silent.  
Graves was gone, vanished in a puff of smoke - he never could resist a touch of the dramatic, even when fighting - and the case, the case was fine, and the station was in pieces, but the platform was empty. Newt was gone, leaving behind only a few bloodstains on the tiled flooring and an overwhelming sense of loss. Frozen, Tina could do nothing but stare, until she felt a hand on her shoulder and knew, somehow, that it was the President. She brushed it off - she didn’t need comfort, not from Picquery - and sucked in a breath, striding forward until she stood under the empty hole in the mangled roof of the subway, looking up to the sky.  
“I’ll find you, Newt. Then I’ll kill that son of a bitch.”


	2. The Calm before the Storm

The immediate aftermath of the Manhattan Disaster (as it would come to be known) was panic.  
No-Majs had seen the wizarding world and what they could do, and no magical legislation or any efforts by Aurors could stem the flood of news that came pouring in from all over the world. High-ranking Congressmen, Senators and respected families were exposed, and grainy photos of the debacle were on the front page of every newspaper, magical and No-Maj alike. The world was in uproar, the existence of wizards revealed, the magical world in disarray, and America was groaning under the weight of all the suspicion and distrust. Families turned against each other, violent crime increased exponentially, and murders happened in the streets.  
None of this was known to Newt, who’d spent the days since the Disaster locked in Grindelwald’s dungeon. He remembered vividly his arrival, Apparating into the courtyard of an old house. The space was nearly deserted, a few fanatics in black suits and robes walking back and forth, carrying books. In the corner, a Patronus - what was it? A horse? A lion? He couldn’t see - was pacing around its caster.  
Graves’ appearance caused a stir among the wizards. Apparently he’d intended to remain in America for a few months before returning to… well, wherever they were. Newt was promptly hauled off to a dungeon and locked into iron shackles, helpless without his wand, but not before Graves mostly healed his wounds - _“I have no use for a dead hostage”_ \- and revealed his identity as mass murderer and magi-supremacist Gellert Grindelwald. Newt almost wished he’d died in the train station (at least he wouldn’t have had to see that hair) rather than be used by the fanatics. The long hours in the dungeon, only seeing light every now and then - he didn’t know how often it was, he had no way of measuring the time - gave his overactive imagination plenty of time to come up with gruesome tortures and punishments, half of which he was pretty certain weren’t even possible, but you know, there was always the _possibility_ -  
No. He couldn’t think about such things. It couldn’t help him and he needed to think about escaping. He couldn’t think about Tina, or Jacob, or Queenie, or Pickett, or Frank, or Dougle, oh god no, and he collapsed into a shivering ball again, his shoulder throbbing incessantly.  
He’d tried many times to heal it, of course, but he’d never had a talent for wandless magic. He’d been expelled before his N.E.W.T.s and hadn’t had much of a reason to practice windless magic in his travels. Nonetheless, he tried for hours on end to conjure the simplest spell he could think of, a Lumos. But despite his best efforts, the cell remained pitch-black for weeks.  
On the 27th day (that was his guess, anyway, as it was the 27th time he’d woken up), the door opened. He’d long since lost the energy to press himself against the wall or shrink into the corner as he used to. He simply turned his face from the blinding light. It was no salvation this time, however, as a hand roughly grabbed his shoulder and pulled him from the cell, the iron manacles biting at his skin and clinking loudly in the silence. Outside the jails, Newt was simply dropped, his head hitting the-  
Carpet? Where was he? Did Grindelwald even have carpets? Where was he? Feebly, Newt raised his head, wincing at the flickering candles. As the work around him came into focus, he saw a figure standing above him. The blur resolved itself into Grindelwald, immaculately dressed as always, but Newt only had a few seconds to process this development before he was hauled to his feet. Swaying, he blinked, trying to filter out the pain, until the spinning world resolved itself. Grindelwald put a steadying hand on his shoulder, but as soon as Newt looked him in the eye, he tightened his hand into a vice-like grip and pulled him into the house.  
————————————————————————————————————————————  
Tina looked up at the manor through slitted eyes. In any other context she might have admired the German architecture, but she couldn’t feel anything except revulsion for what had become Newt’s prison for the past month. As she studied the palace - a fitting description, it was a masterstroke of Baroque architecture - her mind drifted to the man surely trapped inside. She refused to subscribe to the increasingly common belief that Newt had been summarily disposed of by former Director Graves, and despite her frankly pathetic past attempts at Legilimency, tried to reach inside the building, looking for Newt. Queenie, beside her, shook her head.  
“I can’t do that, Teen. I’ve tried, but I think there’s a shield. I can’t sense anything.”  
At this last remark, Picquery, nearby, whipped her head around, narrowing her eyes.  
“Goldstein, are you saying there’s no one there?”  
Queenie shook her head. “No, Madam President. I can’t sense anyone but I can’t sense the space either. It’s like there’s nothing there.”  
“We know it’s real enough, Goldstein, Carpenter was killed trying to get in there.”  
Queenie simply lowered her head and looked away. There was no way to deny that the seemingly non-existent inhabitants of the manor had killed one of MACUSA’s best aurors. Picquery knew this too. Pushing it out of her mind, she turned to the older Goldstein sister.  
“Miss Goldstein, get everyone ready. We’re going in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit's going to go down in part 3 (in the works, but I have a really busy school schedule so I don't know how long it'll take sorry)


	3. The Breaking Storm

If he’d been asked where he’d gone in Grindelwald’s mansion, Newt wouldn’t have been able to say. He was flickering and and out of consciousness throughout the trip from the dungeon to the ramparts (Ramparts? This was a castle?), and it took him several minutes to register when Grindelwald put his wand to his neck and held him over the side. The only thing that could make it through the haze caused by massive blood loss was the feeling of gravity pulling him down. He couldn’t even raise his head, or register Grindelwald’s words to the people below.  
————————————————————————————————————————————  
At the sight of Newt, Tina’s hand flew to her mouth, muffling a strangled sob. Behind her, she heard a thump, and dimly realised that Queenie was on her knees. For a second, the entire party was frozen, before Queenie uttered those damning words.  
“I can feel him…”  
Tina whirled around, kneeling in front of Queenie and grabbing both her hands.  
“Is he okay, Queenie, please, what did he do-”  
“Tina, you’re hurting me-” Tina looked down at her hands, squeezing Queenie’s wrists, knuckles white with force. She let go.  
“He- he-” Queenie gasped out, unable to finish her sentence, but it told Tina all she needed to know. A cold anger rushed through her, the blood roaring in her ears slowing, before an empty calm settled. She lowered her hands and stood up, raising her head and eyes, before turning around and striding over to the President with a confidence she’d never had. But it wasn’t confidence. Picquery had known her long enough to tell. It was something else - anger, but not as it usually manifested itself. It was as if Tina had taken all her anger and sadness and bottled it up inside of her, forging it into something else, honing and sharpening it into a razor-sharp blade until it was more than blind rage, more than a controlling force - it was controlled now, it was her weapon, and she was going to kill that smug bastard on the ramparts and probably tear him into a million pieces in the process. Everything that had made Tina Tina was gone, maybe permanently, pushed out of her mind by first the anger, then the emptiness. There was no room of trivial concerns. She was set on a single task, and she wasn’t going to rest until the man who had taken Newt - Graves or Grindelwald, she didn’t care - was dead.  
The aforementioned smug bastard was now laughing at Queenie’s predicament, casting sideways glances at Tina, gauging her reaction, but she didn’t move, simply stared at him, a small smile on his face. Of the war party at his gate, that was probably what unnerved him the most. All his intelligence on Porpentina Goldstein told him she was nothing more than an emotional woman, easy to manipulate and easy to break. Deciding it was time to leave, he swept into a mocking bow, wrenching the still half-conscious Newt back over the ramparts and throwing him to the stone pathway.  
“I’m afraid I must leave you lovely ladies now. There’s so much to be done! Don’t worry, your friend will be taken good care of. Unless, of course, you try to visit without a proper invitation. In which case…”  
The chilling laughter rounding out the sentence would stay with all present for years. Picquery herself woke up in a cold sweat sometimes, swearing she could still hear him. It was what one would expect to hear from a man who truly didn’t care anymore - who knew who he was and let it go, becoming nothing more than a vessel for his former self’s darkest dreams, and everything that implies. It had been life and death before, but something had changed. He wasn’t the same person who had stolen the Elder Wand. Something had snapped, perhaps more, tearing him not just in two, but in four, five, six pieces. As if life and death no longer mattered to him, only the one thing that stood out in the middle of the tattered shreds that were his mind - the only thing that had stayed with him through what must have been truly exquisite torture. His purpose. His motivation. His dream. His cause. The reason they were all here, and the reason so many people had suffered.  
With a whirl of his cloak, he spun around, marching off, not even stopping to grab Newt, simply flicking his wrist and pulling him along the floor. They disappeared down a trapdoor, and the castle moved no more.  
————————————————————————————————————————————  
The stand-off went on for hours, neither side making a move. It was dawn when Picquery decided it had to end. A pity. The sky was streaked with oranges and pinks and a hint of red, every cloud lined with the finest silver. Most of the Aurors present simply sat staring. They knew the odds of surviving the night were slim. They wanted their last glimpse of the sky to be this beautiful.  
The first inkling Tina had that it was about to end was a change in Picquery’s tense glances towards the castle. Instead of sneaking a look towards the imposing stone facade, she began turning to it, studying it in close detail, her expression the intense concentration that boded ill for any who interrupted her. Once the tactics discussion with her aides was finally finished, she faced the manor, arms crossed, unblinking and squinting slightly, as if she could see through the solid rock and wards straight to the madman at its core. She stayed that way for an hour, maybe more, until the sun began peeking over the horizon and the first rays of the coming day hit the white house, and the building appeared to be in flames, red, orange and yellow. Perhaps it was fitting that the sky was now blood red.  
“Red sky at night, sailor’s delight, red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning,” Picquery murmured. They were sailors indeed, and they were sailing into a storm.  
“Goldstein…”  
Tina hurried to her side.  
“Let’s go.”  
“But… Newt!”  
“If we have to lose Mr Scamander to stop this madman, Goldstein, it is a price I will gladly pay.” Tina could see the storm approaching. “Now, get everyone into their teams. They know their roles.”  
“Yes, Madam President,”  
Tina hurried off. As she gather the Aurors and her team, she could have sworn she could hear the thunder rolling across the sky. They took their position as the President’s guard, heading the frontal assault. Stealth teams had been assigned to infiltrate through side passageways, and the destruction team was ready to take down the wards. The time passed in a blur, and all of a sudden Tina came to herself, standing at the President’s side, and Picquery’s hand fell and the wards exploded in a shower of light.   
And then the storm hit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long! I honestly forgot about this and my interests changed so I'm not as into Fantastic Beasts anymore, but this was really fun to do. I'm not sure if this is going to be the last chapter.

The moment the drawbridge came thundering down - yes, there was an actual drawbridge, because Grindelwald had an overactive flair for the dramatic - The President led the war party into the castle. This was no time for stealth, so they simply destroyed the ornate wooden doors in their way, caving them in with a few spells, wands at the ready for any defences they might encounter. The first was a trap set in the centre of the entrance hall that spewed fire whenever anyone stepped within the bounds of an invisible area of the hall. Picquery had her aides set fireproof spells on everyone, but it was magical fire, and they lost three of their number to it. After that they advanced down a hallway, where Grindelwald’s fanatics hid in side rooms to fling curses at any who caught their eye. It was a long, hard battle, but they were able to rendezvous with the other teams in the courtyard and press on. After a punishing fight, they were able to advance to the final room - the grand hall. Wands at the ready, they blasted in the elaborate doors and found-

Newt. Chained to the floor, his shoulder and face still caked with blood, barely conscious. 

The Aurors spread out around the room, moving cautiously, surrounding Grindelwald and the remaining fanatics. The stately marble floor was scorched in places, forming a circular pattern with inscriptions around the rim in Latin. The room had been partially destroyed by the magical duels, and Picquery nudged a smashed bit of plaster from the ceiling towards the circle. The moment it passed the pattern, the scorch marks flared up brilliantly, and all present covered their eyes from the light. When they looked back, all that remained was a pile of ash, added to the existing embers. In the silence that followed, the only sound was Newt’s chains clinking. Finally, Grindelwald stepped back, twirling his wand in the cocksure manner of a man who knows he has the entire situation under his control.

“Now,” he began, the word a thundercrack in the still room, “everyone take a step backwards.”

The Aurors looked to Picquery, but didn’t move. Not taking her eyes off the white-haired maniac, she nodded slowly. Simultaneously, the MACUSA force retreated a single step.

“Another…” he said the word slowly, letting it roll off his tongue, savouring the taste in his mouth - the overwhelming flavour of _power_. Carelessly, he twirled his wand between his fingers, then grinned at Picquery, winking.

“And how about one more, for luck.”

Her eyes flashing, Picquery took another humiliating step. MACUSA’s finest, a veritable army of Aurors, the elite crime-fighting force assembled from the best of wizarding society, held at bay by a madman with a stick.

“Very good, children,” Grindelwald said approvingly, with the tone of one praising a toddler. “Now, I want everyone to turn around and walk out.”

This time, no one moved. A step, a few steps, they were nothing to a full retreat. He was asking them to abandon the person they’d come to save, and despite the human compassion in them, they were Aurors, and they would follow orders.

Grindelwald sighed. “Must I remind you of the last time you didn’t do as I said?”

Still, no one moved a muscle. Rolling his eyes, Grindelwald snapped his fingers with a dismissive air. Immediately, Newt’s left forearm snapped with a wet crunch. They could see shards of white bone poking up from the torn skin near his elbow, and the man’s mouth opened in a silent scream. 

“Shall we try this again? Everyone, out.”

The room was still. Many of the Aurors were veterans of the force, and they’d been in hostage situations and seen far worse. Official policy was obedience and professionalism. But Grindelwald knew this. And he knew he’d have to push them a lot further. It wasn’t personal, so the effect was less serious. Even Tina was looking down at the crumpled man with the disconnected look of someone watching a bug being squashed. Hiding a smile, Grindelwald snapped his fingers again, not taking his eye off her. The same snapping sound echoed around the otherwise silent hall, and Newt’s right forearm collapsed inwards. Still not a sound came from him, though his mouth was wide open. When nothing happened, Grindelwald stamped his foot on the ground like a petulant child. 

“What do you people want? What do I have to do to convince you to leave? To I have to kill him? I will, you know. He’s been quite a nuisance, I’d be quite glad to.”

Deathly quiet, Picquery stared him down. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered. “you’ll lose your leverage.”

Grindelwald grinned, secure in his sense of superiority. Kneeling down, he pressed his wand to Newt’s neck, under his left ear, then paused, looking up at Tina and grinning, waiting for her to protest, cry, yell, break down, anything, just to react. She just stood in front of him, staring down at him with a bored look on her face.  
Taking that as a challenge, he drew his wand across Newt’s throat. 

Immediately, hot red blood sprayed on the ground. Grindelwald stood up and took a step back, looking down at the body with distaste. When he stood he’d let Newt’s collar go, and the slight man collapsed, face down, the puddle of blood around his now stained red hair growing slowly, approaching the rings of ash. 

Picquery attacked. 

All hesitation gone, nothing Grindelwald could hold against her, she, along with the Aurors, fired spell after spell at the protective circle, lighting up the room brilliantly. The dome imploded and MACUSA swarmed in, but Grindelwald snapped his fingers once more, conjuring-

Percival Graves. Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security, Order of Merlin, First Class, patriarch of the Graves family, descended from European royalty and the richest person in continental America, chained to the floor, covered in bruises and dark red blood with a polished black boot firmly on his neck.

Everyone froze. At a hand signal from Picquery they backed off as Grindelwald grinned triumphantly at the room, then shattered the chains and hauled up the Director by his collar, placing his wand to the man’s neck. He held Graves in front of him like a human shield and backed away, towards a staircase at the rear of the room.  
“So sorry to be rude, but I really must be going. You know how it is - so much to do, never a break-“ a section of the roof caved in, the ornate painting crashing to the ground and shattering into thousands of pieces. The sharp sound ignited the tension in the room, and it lit up with hundreds of spells cast by the Aurors behind Picquery. The President herself was powerless to stop them, the sound drowning any attempt to stop the clamour. For a brief moment, Grindelwald and Graves were lit up brilliantly, so brightly that everyone had to look away, as if they were staring into the sun. Then the final spell was cast, and the two exploded, throwing them across the room. Grindelwald was hurled against a marble column, cracking his head and falling to the floor, unconscious, while Graves was sent against the wall behind them, and lay, awake but unable to move from his injuries. 

Immediately, the Aurors rushed forwards, securing Grindelwald and lifting Graves to a couch where they could treat him. While the healers worked, Tina stood nearby, watching with detached interest. The events of the past few minutes, along with the scene she’d witnessed outside, had changed her more than she’d ever thought possible, and when she’d once worshipped Percival Graves and the ground he walked on she now looked down as his dying body with detached curiosity. He meant nothing to her, she realised, and she did not care if he lived or he died because he was unimportant. There would be another to take his place. 

Across the room, an Auror lifted his head, looking for Picquery. “Madam President!”

Picquery stood from her position at Graves’ side, initially searching for the calling voice but soon locating it. As she began to walk, Tina fell in behind her, and as the two approached the gathered crowd of healers and Aurors melted away and Tina saw Newt’s broken figure lying on the floor, his arm mended but the ugly red line around his throat still weeping blood. The Auror knelt at his side looked up and met their eyes, ashen grey and spattered with the magizoologist’s blood.

“We couldn’t close it, Madam. It’s not a normal wound.” He took a deep breath and lowered gaze. 

“I’m sorry, Madam President. He’s dead.”


End file.
